


T-shirt

by soulback



Category: Castle
Genre: Fluff, M/M, realisations over breakfast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulback/pseuds/soulback
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin fails at making breakfast. Javier fails at keeping his emotions out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	T-shirt

The first thing Esposito notices when he enters the kitchen is that Ryan is wearing his t-shirt. The second thing he notices is that Ryan appears to be cooking. Esposito thinks this should be the first thing he notices considering how much Ryan hates cooking; also the stove is spewing out black smoke. And yet, even in the possible event of asphyxiation, the thing Esposito’s brain is most concerned about is damn Ryan wearing his damn t-shirt in his damn kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast, obviously.”

Esposito squints. Maybe it’s not his t-shirt. Maybe Ryan owns the exact same one. No. Ryan doesn’t own the exact same one. This t-shirt is two sizes too large for him. ~~The fabric looks soft against his skin.~~ (Esposito is never thinking _that_ again.)

It doesn’t matter, of course. Why shouldn’t Ryan wear his t-shirt? They’re fucking, aren’t they? It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just going to forget about it.

“Isn’t that my t-shirt?”

“What?” Ryan dips his head to sniff the shoulder. “Oh – yeah, I guess so.”

Esposito hoists himself up onto a bar stool on the other side of the kitchen counter and waits for the idea of Ryan recognising him by smell to stop being completely and utterly terrifying. He rubs the back of his head. “Need a hand?”

“Actually I’ve just about got everything under control here – shit, wait a minute – “

Ryan turns from staring intently at an open cook book to yank the pan of eggs – Esposito is guessing eggs, anyway – from the burner, and lobs it on the counter. His brow is furrowed as he pokes at the eggs with a spatula.

For a moment Esposito entertains the thought of what it would be like if Ryan was furrowing his brow at burnt eggs and – virgin Mary, is that _jam_? – in someone else’s kitchen and his intestines threaten to escape through his stomach.

“You alright?”

Ryan is raising one eyebrow at him.

“Yeah. No. I’m just going to take a shower and if you burn down the kitchen before I’m finished maybe we can go out for breakfast.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

To Esposito’s credit he makes it into the bathroom before his knees give way and he has to hold onto the door handle for support.   
He catches sight of his face in the mirror – worried and dark.

“You’re pathetic,” he mumbles, leaning on the rim of the sink. “You are a pathetic, finished man.”


End file.
